Hard For My Boss

I glance at him. “What do you mean?”

“I should’ve gone after Brady,” he explains. “Could’ve stopped him sending those pics and videos. I should have socked that fuck-nut right in the jaw.”

“No, Elijah. It wouldn’t have been worth it.”

“Fuck yeah, it would have been! I should have punched him, taken his phone, and snapped it in half.”

“Yeah, and then you would be in jail right now charged with assault and damaging his property. Then all I’d have is this teddy bear to look after me tonight … and not my … my best friend.”

He gives me another squeeze with his arm, then lays his head on top of mine as I sink against his chest. “Even then, you’d still have me, Trev. Even if I was sitting in a jail cell nursing my knuckles, I’d be proud. You always, always have me.”

I smile for the first time in hours. I don’t quite know when it happens, but I shut my reddened eyes, and suddenly I’m falling asleep against Elijah’s chest, letting go of my living nightmare and desperate for a sweet dream to replace it.

When the morning finds me, I open my eyes to discover Elijah gone and a cloud of indistinct murmuring and crowd noise in his wake. I blink a bunch of times, confused, then push myself out of bed and stumble out of my room to investigate.

Elijah is fully dressed and ready for his day, but he’s frozen by the front door, wide-eyed.

I rub more sleep out of my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Dude …” Elijah faces me. “Paparazzi, everywhere. Reporters. Journalists. The whole fuckin’ city.”

I’m wide awake in an instant, rushing to his side to look out the peephole in our door.

To my terror, he isn’t lying; there are reporters, cameramen, photographers, and journalists crowded right outside our door and pouring into the street.

I pull away to gape at my roommate. “You are not going out in that.”

He nods quickly. “Agreed. I’ll be eaten alive.”

“And I’ll be dessert.”

He frowns. “But I want to be the dessert.”

I’ve made my way to the couch to flip on the TV, then get the pleasant experience of reliving all of yesterday’s nightmares right before my sleep-deprived eyes. The news channels have censored versions of the photos and videos blasted everywhere. Cameramen are posted just outside of Benjamin’s building, the front of which I recognize all too well. There is crew at the Gage Communications building too, but none are able to get any comments from the people inside.

“What … a … shit show,” moans Elijah, having joined me by the couch.

“I’m at a loss for words. What the fuck do we do? You can’t go to work.”

“Me?” He shakes his head. “You’re not going to just sit here all day feeling sorry for yourself, Trevor.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Um, yeah, I am. I can’t go back into that office. Sorry. There’s no way I can face anyone there ever again. My career there is over.”

“But what about Ben?”

I bite my lip and glance back at the TV. What about Ben? The more I watch the coverage on the TV, the heavier my feelings become. I must be kidding if I think I’ll ever get any career again after this. The bigger picture begins stretching itself over my eyes, darkening my mind to the point that I can’t close my mouth. How can I ever dream to be taken seriously for the rest of my life? Every boss in the world that could hire me would laugh at me, or wait for me to make a move on them, or downright turn me away. No coworker would ever trust me, figuring me to just be an opportunist who screws his way to the top.

I’m ruined in every way possible.

And I think I’ve lost Ben despite it all.

Elijah gets up to check the kitchen windows, which face the front of the apartment. When he pokes a finger through the blinds, he instantly regrets it, the crowd of reporters outside coming to life with shouts and questions and demands. Elijah backs away from the window so fast, he trips over Salamander and crashes onto the floor, the ugly orange creature hissing and tearing across the carpet toward the bedrooms.

I grab the remote and mute the TV, unable to hear any more of it. Then I turn to my roommate, who’s finally managed to peel himself off the floor. “I’m sorry,” I mutter to him. “For all of this.”

“Nah, don’t go taking all the credit for this performance,” he teases me. “Mr. Gage’s ass gets a supporting actor nomination at the very least.”

I stare at my phone, wondering if I should dare try to call Ben. I haven’t heard a peep from him. I wonder if I ever will again.

“You should go to work,” I decide, lifting my gaze to Elijah. “Those vultures out there aren’t here for you. I’ll stay here and try to sort through everything and figure out what I want to do.”